Esti Escapes from Brooklyn

It was a really hellish winter's day. I had flown into La Guardia from Austin, and had been delayed, diverted, delayed, cancelled overnight and delayed again. Storms all over North America over a four-day period had caused havoc on the airline schedules. It was now almost 4:00PM on a Friday; I (and others) should have landed late on the previous night.

It was nearly time for the Jewish Sabbath to begin, which I observed. There was nothing I could do, except find a cab or an Uber and get back to Manhattan. I was waiting at the carousel for my case. The luggage was also completely chaotic, and it was clear that it would be a long wait until the cases arrived.

Near me a woman, probably 40'ish, was yelling into her cell phone. I immediately recognized that she, too, was Orthodox Jewish - her long clothing and stylish (but obvious) wig identified her. I also immediately recognized that she was very slim, and VERY attractive.

"What are you talking about?" she yelled into the phone. "I'm not doing it. I'm tired out and I'm coming home." She listened on the phone for another few seconds, threw it on the floor, and burst into tears.

"Can I help you?" I asked. She looked at me, and was about to say, "No" when she saw the small skullcap I always wear, and realized I would understand her problem.

She uttered a curse in Yiddish. "My crazy husband is telling me to find a hotel for Shabbes [the Sabbath], and not embarrass him by turning up in Brooklyn during Shabbes. Where am I going to find a hotel in this chaos?"

I looked at her. "Look, I'll be frank. I'm taking a taxi back home to Manhattan as soon as possible. Nothing else I can do. You're welcome to come back with me; you'll have a roof over your head, I've got plenty of food, and an empty house. You can have as much privacy as you want or need; and you can get home on Saturday night."

"Is your wife there?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I'm widowed. Just me. By the way, I'm Allan." I didn't put out my hand, as very Orthodox women don't shake hands with men.

There was silence. She looked at me. "OK - it's a deal. Thanks. My crazy husband can go ..." - a moment's hesitation - '"fuck himself. And my name is Esti."

I think that was the most surprising think I'd heard in some time.

It took half an hour or more before we retrieved the luggage, and found a cab. As the cab inched out of the airport, in the rain and sleet, more surprises were in store.

Esti looked at me. Without looking away, she reached up and peeled off her wig, putting it into a carry-on she'd kept with her. "This is going to be a blanked-out day. This day doesn't exist. I want to feel some freedom. Forget about the rules, and forget about Brooklyn. That stupid bastard of a husband is going to pay for this."

Well, I was pretty shocked. All I could say was "Oh'"

For the rest of the cab journey she quizzed me about who I was, where I'd been and my "story". She, on the other hand, did not reveal much. She had been visiting family in San Antonio, and, like me, had had a nightmare of a return journey. She lived in Brooklyn's strictly Orthodox Jewish community, and ran a tableware business with her husband. Her children were all 'out of the house'.

We got to Manhattan, and to the brownstone where I lived. We got in, I turned the lights on, and I showed Esti to a spare bedroom and attached bathroom. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but she marched across the room and turned all the lights on. "I told you", she said, "absolutely no rules. I'm going to have a hot shower. If you can organize some food, that would be good. I don't care if you cook it or whatever. After dinner we can watch TV if you want, and then we can go to bed. Together."

She grinned at me. A lot of rules were being broken here.

And that is what happened. About half an hour later she came down to the living area, dressed in a long dressing gown. She came over to me, and put her arms around my neck. "I want to enjoy myself", she murmured. Esti pulled me towards her, and I felt the warmth of her body under the robe. I ran my hands down her back to her bottom. "Bra and panties, if that's what you're trying to work out", she whispered.

We kissed, tentatively and then very passionately. Our tongues slid around each other. I stroked her breasts, and squeezed gently. She made some noise in her throat, and slid her breasts from side to side across my chest. I cupped her butt cheeks, which were firm and quite small. I guessed that she was a gym regular! "Stop it, I like it" she said, as she started kissing my neck and my ears. I ran a finger down her butt crack. She sighed loudly, and renewed her attack on my chest with her breasts.

"Let's eat", I said. I'd found some cold cuts and salad, and some wine. It was fine.

When we'd eaten, it was around eight o'clock. "Allan - you haven't shown me your bedroom", she said.

We got to bed. She took off her robe, and then her bra and panties, displaying a long, lithe, olive-skinned body with strong legs and full, strong breasts. Her nipples were pointed. She had a gently trimmed, but full pubic bush, and a small, firm arse.

"My disgusting husband hardly knows where the parts of my body are, let alone how to fuck me or play with me. So, I want you to show me, because I've never been in bed with any other man."

What we were about to do broke major, major conventions and rules of our religion.

But it was fabulous.

Indeed, Esti was a neophyte in sex, even though she had been married for over twenty years. Quick, crude, missionary-position banging was all she had known. She'd never been on top, nor had she ever been fucked doggy-style. She was not sure that she had ever had an orgasm. She had never played with a cock and balls, let alone sucked. Her nipples had never been licked; or sucked; or pulled; or bitten. She had discovered her clit, but only she had touched it. We found her g-spot. And her arse was virgin to the touch...

Her floodgates were thrown open. We did it all! We fucked, and masturbated, and explored every orifice with cock, fingers and tongue. She learned to give me a blow job, and discovered that she liked to swallow. She wanted more, and more, and more. Once she discovered with certainty her capacity to orgasm, four or five were nowhere near enough. By three in the morning she was exhausted - and I certainly was!

We fell into a deep sleep. On Saturday morning, we woke to deep snow outside. I suggested a shower. Joint showers were a new experience as well. I gently soaped her entire body, washing every part. She was blissful, and had a great time washing my genitals. As a finale, I fucked her from behind in the shower.

When we had finished, dried off, dressed and found breakfast, she curled up on my chair, and quizzed me non-stop for two hours about sex... about men and their anatomy... about what turned men on and what men wanted to do to women.

Not surprisingly, we slept through the afternoon. When it got dark, she knew it was time to revert to Brooklyn wife. The wig reappeared, and she made herself up. About an hour after nightfall, her phone rung. "Yes, I managed. I met a woman who lived not far from the airport and I stayed with her. I'll be back in about an hour."

She kissed me goodbye, took my phone number; and we found her a taxi outside. Esti disappeared over the Brooklyn bridge. I wondered if I would ever hear from her again. I hadn't dared ask for her phone number, and she hadn't offered it. In fact, I realized that I knew hardly anything about her.

About a month later, I got a short text message from a telephone number I didn't recognize. "Served divorce papers on the husband today."

In the following July, I got a second message from the same number. "Divorce now final - civil and religious".

In the following January, we were married. And her name turned out to be Leah, not "Esti".